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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24621997">Ad Astra</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loversarelosers/pseuds/Loversarelosers'>Loversarelosers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Cancer, Headaches &amp; Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:36:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,433</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24621997</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loversarelosers/pseuds/Loversarelosers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco embraces death with open arms. This time, Harry cannot. </p><p>or the one where Draco is dying and there's nothing anyone can do</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>258</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ad Astra</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don't think I'll be writing any sort of epilouge to this fic, because it starts and ends with Draco's sickness and that's really the only thing I wanted to write in this, but I'm working on something with Drarry again. I don't own harry potter, though I wish I did because i hate JK R*wling.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>ad astra</p><p>---<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“You’re alright.”</p><p> </p><p>Draco is shaking in his arms, body wracked with minute tremors. Warm tears soak through the shoulder of his sweater and he grips the blond boy more tightly, wrapping arms around his waist and back like he can pull Draco away from the darkness. </p><p>He can feel the way Draco’s body is threatening to give out on him, from the shaking to the unsteady way Draco leans on him, his body near collapse. He’s not at all surprised when Draco’s grip slackens and his body grows limp, but worry floods his system all the same. </p><p>He presses his lips to Draco’s forehead, concerned with the heat that radiates off the boy’s frame. He adjusts his grip, not bothering with magic tonight, only the light weight of Draco’s body in his arms. He can feel rib bones, covered in the thinnest layers of sinnew and tissue, and the concern mounts. </p><p>He’s so utterly terrible at all of this shit. They’re 22, not 12, and still, <em> still, </em>he cannot figure out the exact feelings that overtake him when Malfoy lies prone in front of him.</p><p>That night, he slips into a dreamless slumber. In the morning, he’ll taste regret on his lips. </p><p>—-</p><p>
  <em> “Harry. Can I call- I mean. Would you mind-” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He’s still so warm under the covers. Draco’s hair is tousled and spread like a blond halo, lips bitten red and cheeks flushed with arousal, eyes gleaming.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Harry can barely think, and it’s really not the time for Draco to be asking trivialities, not after they just spent the night as they had, so he presses a kiss against Draco’s lips. He runs a thumb down the blonde’s cheekbone, parting so there’s not an inch of space between them. He gets lost somewhere in Draco’s eyes.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You can call me…” He swallows. “Draco, you can call me whatever name you want. As long as you call me.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco’s searching for something in his face, maybe a lie, but he doesn’t find it. This time the blonde is the one who kisses first, and Harry is happy to reciprocate.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> —- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Sorry.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Harry’s still slightly fuming about the fight. Draco seems tired but genuine, standing in the doorway of the living room.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco had said some repulsive thing, though nothing offensive or truly cutting, mostly just hastily crafted insults about Harry’s friends. He could be harsh when he wanted to, but the fight tonight had seemed almost schoolboy-like, as if they were still third-years picking a fight. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Harry had mostly been upset because of work- an awful  case in the department, and they had him work overtime just as the slimy bastard evaded their clutches. Three girls dead, and all he had to show for it was a shitty fight with Draco in the dead of night. If not for the spells around the house, they would have awoken the neighbors.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco is still standing at the doorway as he stews in his own guilt and shame. The blond’s apology had not fallen on deaf ears, just angry ones.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But he was quickly giving up on the fight. Draco’s mood swings were always unpredictable, but tonight he seemed snappish in a way that Harry hadn’t seen in a few years- terse and tense over everything. Every little noise was a nuisance, every action was a personal attack. He had grown tired of Draco’s bitten off remarks about the lights, about a mug of tea, about everything. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>An hour ago they were literally at each other’s necks, and Harry’s screaming still somehow wasn’t as loud as Draco’s silences. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The younger boy had stalked off twenty minutes ago. Now he was still standing in the doorway, like his apology could be accepted so quickly.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m sorry, I wasn’t...I shouldn’t have picked a fight. I know you were busy today.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The apology is so uncharacteristic that it makes Harry’s head snap up. Draco’s voice had to force out the uncomfortable words, but they seem sincere and actually, somehow, nearly kind.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco is shifting his weight from foot to foot, eyes desperately trying to keep eye contact in a way Draco hasn’t been good at in years. His arms are folded against his chest, but not confrontationally, instead like he’s trying to make himself smaller, or he’s cold.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He seems hesitant to approach Harry, like he always is after they fight. Harry sighs, running hands down his face.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yeah. Me too.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He gestures at the couch space next to him, waiting for Draco to sit, but Draco blinks at him, unmoving.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I don’t want to fight anymore.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco nods, nearly stumbling over to Harry, footsteps dragging as he sits close. Draco is wearing a glamour, he can see it now, but it’s flickering. Confusion crosses his mind.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hey— is something wrong?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He feels like an idiot, of course something is wrong, but with a shuddering breath Draco’s glamour melts away and the blonde is quick to curl into Harry’s side.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Draco?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco looks at him and suddenly Harry can see dark circles under red-rimmed eyes, and the smell of toothpaste- like Draco had thrown up and had tried to cover up the evidence. His cheeks are sunken in and flushed with red.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m sorry about earlier.” Draco’s words have a slur to them that Harry hasn’t noticed earlier. “I just...my head hurts.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco sounds vulnerable like this, Harry’s hand carding through his hair, words muffled. Harry’s hand stills at the words.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> This explains the fuss about noises and the lights and all the little nuisances Draco had been upset about earlier. They had a load of muggle medicine in the cabinet because Harry was a firm believer in it, even if spells did the work anyway. There was something comforting in the taste of cough syrup even when a simple healing spell or draught took it away. The issue was that Malfoy is perfectly capable of looking after himself, and wouldn’t be one to hesitate curing a headache with a flick of his wand.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Did you take something?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco nods, body tense. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It stopped working. I don’t know.” The boy is on the verge of tears, and Harry’s first instinct is to rub circles at the blond’s temples. Draco hardly ever is in enough pain that he admits it, long past the days of moaning over wounds in the hospital wing.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Soon, in the dark silence of the room, Draco drifts off to sleep, and his body and face relax, pain forgotten for now.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He falls asleep not long after, but not before pressing a kiss to Draco’s temple, hoping tomorrow goes better for both of their sakes.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>—-</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Two weeks later, he wakes to the sound of retching in the toilet down the hall. Groggily, his body registers what’s happening before his mind, and he’s scrambling out of the cold bed, bare feet cold along the floor.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He skids to a stop at the doorway to the bathroom that Draco has locked in a feeble attempt to keep him out. Apparently he didn’t bother to cast any spells, because Harry quickly undoes the lock and yanks the door open. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco is slumped over, leaning against the side of the bathtub, breathing ragged, hands tugging at blond roots.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Woah, hey.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco is shaking as Harry separates his hands from his hair, cringing as Draco gasps at the movements. He flushes the toilet, but Draco doesn’t seem to be done dry-heaving, his body trembling as he leans over the white porcelain. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He rubs at Draco’s back, worry chipping away at his mind. Draco slumps bonelessly against him, chest heaving, stray tears escaping the corners of his eyes, swallowing convulsively. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>When it seems evident that Draco is too spent to throw up anymore, Harry half-drags half-carries Draco to their bedroom, helping the blond into new clothes. He knows Draco despises being treated as an invalid, but he’s too tired to resist Harry’s feeble attempts to at least keep him comfortable. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>This time, Draco falls into an uneasy sleep far quicker than Harry. He stares at the ceiling for an hour, but his dreams are plagued by visions of people he can’t save. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> —- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A month after the first headache Harry had been privy to, he’s fighting with Draco again.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco is being an absolute git about Ginny’s engagement party tonight. And while he doesn’t want to go any more than Draco, he knows he should. And it will be nice to catch up with members of the weasley clan.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You see them every week, nearly every day. I don’t see why you have to go now.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco’s calmness is infuriating in itself.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It’s her engagement party, it’s quite a large deal, if you haven’t heard!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco scoffs, and it’s enough to send Harry fuming again. His voice is low and trembling when he speaks next.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Just because we can’t get engaged doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to be happy for people who can.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> From the way Draco’s eyes widen slightly, that’s not even the point he was thinking about, and Harry suddenly feels sick to his stomach at the remark he had bitten off without a thought.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Fuck you, Harry. You know that’s not…” Draco’s voice is choked with emotion. “I just wanted you here tonight, you know that.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The guilt is threatening to choke him, but resignment gets there first. There’s silence, for a minute.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Draco. I have to go. You know that.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco nods, not making eye contact, and allows Harry to kiss his forehead without shying away.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He stops at the door, coat in hand, guilt heavy.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Let’s talk about this later, alright?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> He closes the door before he can heat Draco’s sob of reply.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>--</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When he gets home from the party, late in the night, nearing the morning hours, the house is silent. The Tv’s not on, and Draco isn’t reading a book on the couch. He wonders if the blond had already fallen asleep. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Wandering up the stairs, he can smell vomit, and he stops at the toilet, flushing it, worry starting to claw at his brain once again. His heart is hammering and his steps grow quicker as he reaches the bedroom.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The door is ajar, and Draco is lying on the bed, on top of the sheets and covers, one blanket pulled hastily around him, shivering.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Closer, he can see the fine sheen of sweat that covers the younger man, the flush of fever in his cheeks. Shit.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Pressing a hand to Draco’s forehead, he’s concerned. Draco’s eyes blink open, eyelashes damp with tears fluttering open.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “H’rry?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco slurs out his name and suddenly looks so confused that Harry’s heart aches.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes, Draco. I’m...I’m sorry, but I’m here.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco shakes his head blearily, not seeming to register that he’s there, and his eyes blink open again. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“H’rry…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He swallows past a lump in his throat. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m here, Draco.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Nooo…you keep saying that… you’re not…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco’s slurred words take on a desperate tone, voice clouded with emotion. Had Draco been calling out for him all night? He wipes the sweat off the feverish boy.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I feel terrible.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I know.” Draco rarely admits to pain, but the headaches had been a frequent occurrence. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “No...no… Harry.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco seems to recognize him, gripping at his hands, at his shirt.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Something’s wrong.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> The pained words are the last thing Draco says before his eyes roll back into his skull and he starts convulsing, a seizure wracking his body. Panic overtakes him, and he scrambles away like he learned to do in muggle health class. Draco’s lips are turning blue, his lips are turning blue, Jesus, is he breathing?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The seizure stops after what feels like hours, but the clock tells him it’s only been two minutes. Draco’s body relaxes, air being sucked into his lungs at rapid speed. Had Draco had other seizures tonight? His heart sinks. Draco’s eyes blink open, once, twice, confusion clouding his face.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You’re alright, Draco. You had a seizure.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> His attempts at reassurance are shaky. Draco just seems confused, but Harry’s heart is racing a mile a minute, nausea building. This was bad. This was really bad.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Two minutes later, after Draco is clad in a hoodie, he floo’s them directly to St. Mungo’s.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> —- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Two weeks later, when the tests come back negative for anything magic related or otherwise, Draco’s head is  resting against Harry’s thigh, eyes closed. The tv is on mute, playing some I Love Lucy episode Draco’s already seen a dozen times.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “They said it’s nothing.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco seems content with the inconclusive results, but Harry just can’t be. Two months of steadily building headaches, only for the tests to come back inconclusive? Only for a disinterested healer who likely held a grudge against the Malfoy family to simply tell Draco to get more rest? No.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When Draco is asleep, he floo’s to Ron and Hermione’s.   </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He stumbles through the fireplace of their home like it’s his first time using the floo system. He’s unsettled and he’s confused and Ron's gaping face doesn’t help.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Try ringing next time mate!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He sees the issue now. Hermione had hastily pulled a quilt over herself and Ron is struggling with his boxer briefs. Why they decided the couch was the right place when the fire was right there, he doesn’t know. He stares at them for a moment. At his silence, the two pause from their frantic scramblings to look at him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Is everything alright?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He stares.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Harry?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He swallows, looking down at his hands before looking up again at their concerned faces. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “No.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> —- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hermione fusses, making tea, and even Ron has a kind of nervous energy about him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Harry just sits, staring at the cracks in their wooden dining table, Ron across from him, folding and unfolding his hands. Hermione sets down tea in front of all of them.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He’s reminded of when Draco came with him to this flat once, months ago, and had smiled into his tea when Hermione asked him a question about some book. Even Ron had grown accustomed to Malfoy’s companionship with Harry. Tea and biscuits were a nice side effect.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Harry?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He’s drawn out of thought by Ron’s concern. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Right. Draco… Draco has been having these headaches. And the healers say it’s nothing- but I just..”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hermione and Ron exchange glances, he can feel it. He swallows, picking at the thread of his sweater.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m worried.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He doesn’t mean for it to sound as broken as it does, but Hermione's hand gently holds his across the table.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> —- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A week later, he and Draco are sat at Ron and Hermione’s living room. Draco is trying to keep up appearances to little effect: his exhaustion is evident in the slight slump of his shoulders and the shakiness of his hands, the way he squints ever so slightly at the lights.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He doesn’t want to tell Draco that the weariness, this sickness, is obvious, but he vaguely wonders if not hiding it would make Draco more comfortable.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco and Hermione are deep in conversation about some potions book that Harry never would have thought to read. Of course, that is Draco’s job- or rather, was. They skirt around the fact that Draco has taken leave of making potions and now only writes articles. Soon, that may not even work. Harry usually watches from a distance as Draco’s hands cramp and fall still in the middle of a sentence, he watches Draco’s frustration at the words swimming on the page.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ron is talking about Ginny’s wedding plans and how he still can’t get over the fact that Neville will be in their family at all. Though his mind is wandering, he reminds Ron that it’s been months since the two got engaged, which only sends Ron on a tangent about the timeliness of weddings anyway. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> His main focus, though, is Draco, who seems to be in more pain by the minute. Hermione goes off to fetch more biscuits, and tugs a confused Ron with her. Harry shoots her a thankful glance.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>When the two are out of the room, Draco nearly melts into Harry’s side. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Are you holding up?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco breathes deep, inhaling the clean scent of Harry’s shirt. He tenses as Draco shakes his head. Shit. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m fine. It’s fine.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> He kisses Draco’s forehead.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It’s alright if you’re not.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco shrugs, breathing deep.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hermione and Ron return, Ron still going on about wedding cakes. Draco sits back up, admittedly less composed than before. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hermione is commenting about the abstractness of new experimental charms when she pauses mid sentence.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Though they have their benefits, I think it’s quite- Draco?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>His head snaps to look at his boyfriend, who’s eyes have defocused. There’s silence, just for a few seconds, and then Draco blinks back into himself, eyebrows furrowing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He turns to Harry, looking lost.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hermione says something before he can.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Draco, I could be wrong, but I believe you just experienced an absence seizure. Do you know where you are?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco’s eyes search the room. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Your flat.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> His voice is slightly slurred but mostly just defeated, and he slumps into Harry more readily than he’ll care to admit.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hermione nods. Harry just blinks, running hands through Draco’s hair in some kind of shock. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco turns his head into Harry’s neck, flushed with embarrassment and exhaustion.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Sorry.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco’s apology pulls his heart. He shakes his head, fighting back his own tears. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You don’t have to be sorry.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> In the silence, it’s Ron who speaks up.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You know, Malfoy, that we…” Ron gestures to Hermione, who nods assuringly. “We don’t mind if you aren’t always...well, if you aren’t always alright, if you see what I mean. You don’t have to be...Christ, you know.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hermione interjects. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“He’s saying you don’t have to pretend to be alright in front of us.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For a moment it’s quiet, but Draco nods into Harry’s collar, and it’s like a weight has been lifted off him, and he slumps further into Harry’s embrace without abandon. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Thanks.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco’s eyes turn from the couple’s to Harry’s. The grey eyes are dulled in pain.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “My head really hurts.” Draco’s voice breaks every so slightly. “Can we go home?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Less than five minutes later, Draco is still pressed against him as he says solemn goodbye to Ron and Hermione, and they aparate away quickly.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> —- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco is shaking terribly in the waiting room of the muggle hospital, pain and anxiety all amplified. He's been standoffish today, but Harry’s trying really, terribly hard not to take it personally.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He will barely let Harry touch him, even to hold his hand, and they both know why. This time it’s not just Draco’s discomfort with public affection, this time there’s fear in the air of standing a little too close on the metro.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Draco Malfoy?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco hesitates in getting up and Harry tries to help, sideways glances be damned, but suddenly Draco’s eyes roll back into his head and he is limp in Harry’s arms.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> By the time a gourney arrives, Draco is already deep in the throes of his second seizure, and Harry is deep in panic.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> —- </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He calls Hermione, frantically explaining, stuttering over his words, sentences punctuated by sobs. She calms him down enough for him to tell her where they are. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He hangs up the call, staring at the bathroom tile from his spot on the floor.  </em>
</p><p><em> Draco’s </em> dying <em> .  </em></p><p>
  <em> —- </em>
</p><p>It’s been a horrendous three weeks after they’ve received the news. Everything's the same but it’s also terribly different. The doctor had given Draco a few months, not much more but possibly much less. He spends nearly every hour with Draco, except when he cannot, and even then he tries to have someone at home, usually Ron or Hermione or Luna or sometimes all three. </p><p>Inoperable brain tumors are terrifyingly finite. </p><p>Draco seems to be processing it far better than Harry has. A horrifying part of Harry knows that that Draco is in pain all the time, and this is somehow both the cause and the solution. The effect, though, is agony. </p><p>Draco’s in pain all the time, splitting headaches that leave him retching, sleeping through hours upon hours, and forgetting things. </p><p>—-</p><p>
  <em>“Harry- the…” Draco looks put out. “The...the-”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Frustration turns Draco’s exclamations into a groan. He’s gesturing, but all Harry feels is lost. He searches around the room for whatever Draco is looking for.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Oh! The book?” Draco’s nod of relief is quickly transformed into annoyance at himself for not being able to remember.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “That’s alright, Draco. It’s just a book.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He doesn’t voice their shared concern that more words will be lost between them.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> —- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Remember in second year when we had that terrible professor and he only wanted to sign things, and he tried signing pansy’s shirt?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco hums. Harry knows he probably doesn’t remember. Draco can’t remember certain things these days, like some of their school memories, or words for household objects. He’s made a list and tacked it on the fridge, hastily scrawled and titled “words for Draco”. It’s becoming more worrying how many new words he adds.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There’s a panic that stews often that Draco will wake up one day and not remember him or their relationship. It’s silly. It’s truly not even likely, as doctor’s and Hermione have assured him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It’s just so much more likely ss the days slip by like sand through his fingers. He can’t quite seem to grasp it, to hold on. Days waste away and so does Draco, and he stares at the list of words on the fridge and wonders when he’ll have to add “Harry”. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> —- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Through some miracle, Draco doesn’t lose many more words. It’s the most frustrating part of all this, Harry can tell. Draco’s anger at himself, at this illness, seems more personal when it attacks his thoughts, the one thing he always had.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The seizures become more frequent as the days go by, and it’s always startling. Sometimes Draco only spaces out for a minute, sometimes Harry nearly has a panic attack watching Draco convulse on the floor for three minutes. The seizures, however small, are always followed by confusion and pain.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco’s always in pain.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>—-</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Harry...move. Please.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco’s shifting around in their bed like he’s in pain, breathing slightly more ragged. Harry moves, releasing his grip around Draco. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco shifts apart from him, and he doesn’t quite know what’s going on. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What’s wrong?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His hand rests on Draco’s arm and he retreats because Draco tries to bite off a pained cry. Harry’s heart is racing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Shit. Harry-” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco’s voice is choked in pain, and his body is trembling with it, muscles coiled tight. Harry still for the life of him doesn’t know what’s going on, but it seems serious all the same, and he sits up.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Please- I don’t know…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> With Draco’s choked cries he holds on, apologizing profusely into damp blond hair, and apparates them straight to St. Mungo’s.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>—- </em>
</p><p>
  <em>They come home two days later, Draco weak on his feet. Pain, they have recently learned, will just be a part of all of this. They’ve given Draco some draughts to keep him calm, some charms that will hopefully alleviate the seizures. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He doesn’t want to leave Draco by any means, but the ministry had insisted that today he would be needed for a raid. He had tried to find every available loophole, but Draco had kissed him as they were headed home, murmuring that he should take the job.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ron and Hermione are in today, and while Draco hates being treated like an invalid, especially by anyone who’s not Harry, he seems to appreciate the company.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ron’s sitting watching quidditch on low volume and Hermione is reading something or other. Draco has started forgetting again, and it’s worse when he’s with other people.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The forgetting has been accompanied by a near-delirium, like the filter between Draco’s thoughts and his mouth has been shut off. Harry doesn’t mind- Draco talks more, he seems more like his old self. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco kisses him goodbye at the door and he shoots a glance at his friends in the living room. His eyes search Draco’s face over and over. Just in case.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> —- </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He comes home late the next day, aching and angry. The whole raid had been a fiasco, injuring too many auror’s and too many civilians. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>His anger melts when Ron opens the door with a concerned expression that makes his heart sink to his stomach. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Harry! Thank God.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He nearly pushed past Ron, fumbling an apology, searching only for Draco.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco is asleep on the couch next to Hermione, who’s sitting on the armrest reading. He is covered with a blanket and seems peaceful, but Hermione’s eyes say differently. When they speak, it’s in hushed tones.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “He had three seizures today, and two last night.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Harry’s heart sinks. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I called up my friend who’s a muggle nurse and she said that it’s not worth it to bring him to the hospital. He kept on asking for you afterwards.” Hermione is calm, tone leveled as she watches Harry’s face contort. Draco is lying still, but he can read the lines of pain that lace the boy’s body.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Harry.” His eyes snap back to Hermione. “He’s alright.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He nods vacantly, kneeling by the couch, running a gentle hand through Draco’s hair. Grey eyes blink open, hesitate and then register, and a small smile spreads over Draco’s face. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You’re here.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Harry nods, ignoring the sickening feeling that things are getting much worse too quickly.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> —- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “When I die…” Draco is pressing kisses along his neck, punctuated by breathy gasps from the two of them. “You should find someone...someone else.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco’s fingers trace his jaw. They pause, both breathless, but the feeling in Harry’s chest doesn’t alleviate. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It’s not until later, when their panting breathless in the morning light, that Harry voices his thoughts. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m not going to find someone else.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco shrugs, stretching. His headache wasn’t bad yet. “Of course you are. You’re Harry Potter.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He shakes his head, like this feeling won't escape unless he can say it. His hand searches for Draco’s under the covers, and he grasps it tight, to the blond’s surprise.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “No, I- I think you are it.” Draco looks at him doubtfully. He turns to gaze straight into grey eyes. “You’re the one, I think.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco searches his face like he's looking for a lie. It’s not until much, much later that Harry realizes he’s been rubbing the joint of Draco’s left ring finger absentmindedly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> --- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The first time Draco passes out is in the middle of the kitchen. Harry’s making tea and toast because Draco can barely eat anything, and Draco’s milling about, trying to find the pen and paper for his article.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He’s in the middle of getting the cream and sugar when he hears a choked cry from behind him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco’s eyes are frightened as he stands, swaying, in the middle of the kitchen. He’s not fast enough to catch the blond as Draco’s eyes roll back into his head and his legs give out.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>They don’t go to the hospital even though Harry’s worry overwhelms him. They don’t go. They can’t do anything for him anyway. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>—-</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He hates to watch Draco’s body become more fragile, but as the weeks go by, it’s an inevitability. Draco is thin, but he’s always been thin- this is more skeletal. His body is made of flesh and bones and the leanest of muscle, and failing organs. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco can’t stomach much food, but fortunately he can drink water and tea and sometimes Luna’s soup, when she makes it. On certain days, only the best days, he can eat actual food. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sometimes, though, the simple act of moving makes Draco’s headaches increase. Draco's annoyance at his failing body is palpable, and his anger is all at himself.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Harry tries to argue, tries to reassure, reminding Draco that it’s alright, that words aren’t that important, that he doesn’t mind staying in. He counts the day’s now, like a ticking clock is getting louder.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When Harry’s birthday comes to pass, he wakes to Draco asleep in his arms, and it’s the best gift he could wish for.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>---</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “How are you not scared?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco looks indignant, but it's not quite fair to pick a fight when Draco can't fully defend himself.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “ ‘m scared.” Draco’s voice is gentle, calming.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco is tugging at his sleeve, and he sits back down. Draco is allowed to be alright with death, Draco is allowed to feel how he wants after this illness has torn everything away. Draco is okay with death, he has to remind himself. He’s the one who’s terrified, terrified to his bones that he’ll wake up and Draco won’t be there with a smirk and a smile.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tears are welling in his eyes and he's not even the one dying, but  Draco gathers him in his arms all the same, nose nuzzled in Harry’s hair, murmuring reassurances like it will fix the facts.   </em>
</p><p>
  <em> —- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Christmas rolls around, three months and two days after the initial diagnosis. All their friends have crowded into their home instead of the other way round, because these days Draco doesn’t really have the energy. Draco had initially been uncomfortable with the fuss, telling him to go alone, but Harry had just kissed his forehead and told him not to be silly.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The festivities are quiet but cheerful. It’s quite nice to have the Weasley’s in their home. It’s later, when everyone’s drinking tea, that they open presents.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mrs. Weasley made some lovely sweaters for both Harry and Draco, and Hermione had bought Draco a book on charms and potions in a new age. Draco doesn’t voice the thought that he and Harry share- that he won’t be around for a new age. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ron gets Harry a quidditch scarf and he gets Ron a wand holster emblazoned with their favorite team. He gives Hermione a set of magical bookmarks that light up and turn pages for you, and she beams at him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Finally, when gift giving is almost wrapped up, Draco turns to him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I know we said we weren’t going to give gifts to each other.” Draco’s voice is smooth and practiced, and Harry wonders how many times this speech was rehearsed so there would be no slur, no confusion, no forgetting.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He watches in stunned astonishment as Draco reaches into his pocket and pulls out a velveteen box. It sits on the palm of Draco’s hand, Draco’s eyes searching his face.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I know we can’t….legally, we can’t. But this is as good as it’s going to get.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>When he looks up at Draco, he doesn’t see sickness. He sees the smirk of a boy that he had fallen in love with long before he realized it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He’s beaming, possibly crying a little, but a cheer erupts as Draco slides the ring on Harry’s finger. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>When they kiss, it’s the most euphoric thing that Harry has ever felt. He’s far too caught up in joy to find it melancholic. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> —- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Christmas is one of the last good days. The days that follow are for Harry only, with no one else in sight.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco burns with fever on the 26th, bad enough that Harry has to half-shove him into the shower to get cool. The seizures are longer and more frequent and leave Draco shaking in pain afterwards, barely conscious.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> On the 27th, Draco is in muffled screams of pain. In the middle of it all, as Harry is trying to calm the fever and quell the pain with charms that haven’t worked in months, Draco lets out a pained cry.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Just stop…. I want it to stop.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The words are slurred and it’s right after that Draco’s muscles decide to cramp and tense, leaving his breath ragged and pained.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It’s not until later that Harry realizes that Draco may have not just meant the pain.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> —- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> On the 29th, so close to New Years, he doesn’t sleep. Instead, he watches Draco sleep, watches the careful and stuttering rise and fall of his chest.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I love you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco blinks at him in the last coherent hours, gripping at his fingers, at the ring that encircles his ring finger. It’s not like the movies, Draco can’t force out a perfect “I love you too.” But Harry watches in amazement as Draco’s lips form the soundless words, grip on his hand tight.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> --- </em>
</p><p>When it comes to pass that Draco slips away, it’s quieter than Harry could have imagined.</p><p> </p><p>Draco’s breath stutters and then stops on a finale exhale. </p><p> </p><p>He sits and stares in silence for a long, long while.</p><p><br/>
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